Sliding On The Edge Read online

  She sighed, wishing she could explain to her mom how fashionable orange hair had now become. She’d just been a few decades ahead of her time.

  Kay tried to remember the rest of that day, but it had slipped away to some part of her brain that couldn’t or wouldn’t recall it. How long ago had that happened, anyway? she wondered. Fifty years? More than half a life.

  It was time to get back to this other half of her life. The half not lived yet with all of its uncertainty, especially about Shawna.

  “Oh, Kay, what have you gotten yourself into?” she asked aloud.

  The gray snorted.

  “I know. We have to try. Right, girl?” Kay leaned over the gray and laid her cheek against the warm gray neck.

  Chapter 12

  Shawna

  I’m forking clean straw into the stalls when Kay walks in, leading the gray horse, both of them in a sweat. The gray doesn’t walk like the other horses. She struts with her neck curved and her tail in a high arch. When I first saw her in the barn with the other horses, I told Kenny how I thought she moved. He told me she was a princess, and when I laughed he drew up very serious, saying, “An Arabian princess.” Then he spit. “And don’t forget it.”

  Kay stops in front of me. “Walk her around the barn a few times; then wipe her down,” she says, and turns the gray over to me.

  Walking a horse is way easier than pitching hay. I walk her real slowly to give her a chance to cool down, and to give myself a chance to rest before going back to finish up in the barn. I’ve been working for four days, doing the same thing over again and again.

  “This is wack!” I shout to the sky, like somebody might actually care.

  The gray noses me from behind, and I stumble.

  “Dumb horse!” But then who’s the dumb one here? I’m doing all the work, and she’s about to get a rub down from yours truly.

  When I tie her off, she leans into me and I feel her sweat against my arm. I should be weirded out but I’m not. Horse sweat isn’t what it was four days ago.

  I slip the gray’s saddle and blanket off, then wipe her down like Kenny’s shown me. She shakes her long neck and nuzzles her head against me.

  “Like that, huh?” I ask.

  She nuzzles harder like she understands me. She pushes her nose against my hair and snuffles so my scalp tingles.

  Too bad she’s just a horse.

  “Hey now,” I say, as she dips her head. If she were a person, she could get a massage whenever she wanted one. I know some massage parlors that would go wild over her.

  She snorts and shakes her head.

  “Horsing around, are you?” Shawna, you are ready for stand up on the Vegas Strip.

  I finish with the gray and put her in her stall.

  “Bye, beautiful,” I whisper; then I slap my face to bring myself around. Get a grip, Shawna. This is a temporary gig. No bonding with the locals, okay?

  By six my arms give out like always, but that happens conveniently at the same time as my jobs are done, so I consider it my lucky day. I’m dragging myself back to the house when I hear a loud crack, like a gunshot. I drop to my knees behind a barrel Kay’s planted with geraniums. When I look around the side, I don’t see anyone bearing down on me with a six-shooter. So I get up slowly and look across at the shack on the other side of Kay’s fence, where the sound came from.

  A man is staggering out of the barn and toward the fence. The three sick-looking horses are huddled together at the fence closest to Kay’s property. I can’t see their eyes, but I know they’re wide because their ears are laid back and they’re being what Kenny calls skittery. I never know if he’s giving me real words, but I use them anyway.

  The man holds a coil of rope in his fist. He stops before he reaches the fence, lays the coil out in front of him, then raises his hand and yanks on the rope until it cracks overhead. It’s a whip, not a rope. And, most important, there’s not a gun in sight. The horses crush into each other, and the black horse slams against Kay’s fence so hard that the posts wobble.

  I walk closer. Either the man doesn’t see me or he’s blind. I’m at the fence, and, if I want, I can touch the black horse that’s pressed hard against the rail. It tosses its head and shies away from me. It’s actually stuck between a rock and a hard place. That old man with the whip is coming up from one side, and I, a stranger, am standing on the other.

  The horse reminds me of a kid I saw once, who got caught between a gang and the cops. Their eyes look the same and, like the horse, the kid pressed himself against the building as if by pressing hard enough he could get on the other side of the bricks and escape. I never knew how that standoff ended because the cops dragged me down the street to ask me questions

  “Hey!” I yell across the horses’ backs. The black horse tries to rear, but the other two have him pinned. He can’t do more than raise his head and dig into the dirt with his front hooves.

  The old jerk sees me all right. He isn’t blind, but he’s totally smashed. He stops and nearly loses his balance. The whip trails from his hand like a tail he’s lopped off of some poor animal.

  “Git outta here!” he slurs.

  “You git outta here, you old jerk! And leave these horses alone.”

  A sick grin spreads across his face. I’ve seen those kinds of faces late at night outside the casinos—mean drunks on their way to do something bad to anybody who gets in their way. Weaving on his feet, he coils the whip and starts toward me. The horses bolt around his backside and disappear behind the barn. I hold my ground as he comes closer. I’ve seen enough drunks to know that all I have to do with this one is give him a shove and he’ll fall flat on his butt.

  Now here’s something I never thought I’d hear myself say: “How about I call the cops, old man? You like the idea of going to the slammer?” I must sound like I know what I’m talking about, because he draws up short and stands unsteady like he’s in a shallow boat.

  Even from across the fence, the smell of gin and stale tobacco make me want to puke. When he opens his mouth I take a step away, but his stench follows.

  “Stay off a... my prop... property.”

  “She’s not on yer property, Floyd.” Kenny Fargo’s voice is loud at my back.

  I scream and spin around. “Man, you about gave me a heart attack!”

  Kenny ignores me and walks straight at Floyd. “Yer drunk. Go to bed or I’ll call the cops myself.” Then Kenny turns to me. “You ought not take on Floyd when he’s drunk and has his whip. Now, go on inside. I’ve got some things to do. Tell Kay I’ll be late for dinner.” Kenny flings his leg over the top rail of the fence and jumps down onto Drunk Floyd’s side.

  He walks alongside Floyd, his hand on his back until they reach the shack. Then Floyd staggers up the steps, dragging the whip like a dead snake, and disappears inside. I stay put, ignoring Kenny’s orders about going in the house. Kenny walks to the water trough and, one by one, the three horses come out from hiding. They nuzzle Kenny’s back, then dip into the trough for a drink. Kenny goes into the barn and the horses follow him.

  Country people are way weirder than city ones. I start toward the house. Kay puts dinner on the table at the same time, so I figure I have ten minutes to clean up. It feels weird to know what’s going to happen every day and when it’s going to happen.

  At dinner, there’s no mention about Drunk Floyd or my little meeting with the neighbor, but the clothes subject rears up when Kenny Fargo asks what we did all day.

  “She’s going to give us a fashion show a little later. Right?” Kay levels her eyes at me.

  “Why?”

  “Because Kenny and I want to see what you chose.”

  “I got good stuff.”

  “I know you did, but we still need to see the things you bought.”

  “Hell.”

  “I thought you understood about the language, Shawna.”

  “Sh . . .”

  “I wouldn’t push it,” Kay interrupts. “I mean it.” She points her finger
at my face.

  I shove my plate forward and rock my chair backward on two legs. What is with her, anyway? I don’t think my language is bad. I’d cleaned up all the F-words so I didn’t sound like Mom, and so my teachers wouldn’t stick me in the hall anymore. Compared to the real world, I sound as clean as an elf in Santa’s workshop.

  “I’ll get the dishes tonight,” Kenny says, standing up from the table and carrying his plate to the kitchen sink. “You two duke it out without me.”

  “There’s nothing to fight over. I’ll give you your dumb fashion show.” I remember Mom’s advice. Pick your fights. Besides, I’m way too tired to go toe to toe with Kay tonight.

  I put on one outfit after the other, and stomp back and forth between my room and the kitchen. They inspect me like they do their horses, but they don’t say anything. Well, duh! Nothing new about that.

  “This is the last one.” I’ve saved my Diesels and the halter top to the end.

  “Too tight across the backside and too skimpy on the top. Those go back,” Kay says.

  I open my mouth but I don’t get a chance to say what I want.

  “The rest are good choices, Shawna.” She gets up from her chair. I almost expect her to stamp approved on my forehead, but she doesn’t even glance at me as she walks past.

  Kenny Fargo smiles. “I thought the first one was the best, the black and red. Good colors on you.” He turns back to the sink and sprinkles cleanser over the scarred surface.

  I liked the Diesels. I wanted the Diesels. Now I want them even more, since they have to go back. I stomp back into my room and slam the door.

  Who does she think she is anyway, the fashion police? I’m outta here. I’ve given this dump four days of my time and that’s all the patience I’ve got.

  I grab a shopping bag and stuff the Diesels inside. She can keep the rest. Screw her. I’m down the hall and past her office before she can say anything. Out the door, I give it a good bang. I pound down the front steps and go around Buster, who’s stretched out at the bottom. He jumps up and follows me. “Go away, flea bag.” He sits on the road and whines, just like I’ve hurt his feelings.

  In the dark it’s hard to miss all the ruts in this road, so it’s very slow going. I’m picking my way like I’m on the edge of the Grand Canyon. Finally, when I get to the paved road, my brain decides to wake up. This is a big mistake, Shawna. It’s totally black out here.

  No cars. Nobody to hitch a ride from. I’m stranded. It’s miles in any direction. Where’s a cab when you need one?

  I’ve got no choice. I turn back down the road, to the house where Buster thumps his tail and jumps, doing his midair spin.

  “Stupid dog.” I scratch the back of his neck and he settles down.

  Stupid Shawna is more like it.

  I bang my way back into the house, stomp down the hall, ignore Kay who is still sitting behind her desk, and she gives me a look over the top of her glasses. I slam the door when I get to the end of hall.

  Just one more little button push for the day.

  Chapter 13

  Shawna

  When September shows up, Sweet River turns as hot as asphalt on a Vegas parking lot. I’ve survived three weeks of Kay’s summer camp for stray grandkids, made it through the high school entry exam, and endured long nights with the windows cranked wide and the fan whirring above my bed while I read what the long-gone Mark Twain had to say on just about every topic in the world.

  I caught some kind of bug—probably from that fan whipping air down on my head all night—so I’ve already missed the first week of school. But tomorrow Kay and I have an appointment with the school principal. I considered begging off and playing like I’m still sick, but Kay has a nose for liars that would land her a security job at the Casino Royale.

  I close the book on Mr. Twain’s advice and turn out the light. Round as one of those old Vegas dollars, the moon hangs above the trees. It spreads silver across the floor and the end of the bed. If I melted all the money Mom dropped in the casinos, it might look just like this. The fan drones overhead; it sounds like a tired helicopter. Frap. Frap. Frap. I bury my head under the pillow.

  “Damn.” I reach up and turn the fan off. I’d rather roast than hear it droning overhead.

  A coyote howl travels from a corner of the ranch, across the pasture, past the barn, and through my window. It’s a lonely sound that catches me in the stomach. My memories are stored right there, behind my belly button, just under the skin, instead of in my brain, like where normal people have them.

  Sometimes they gather up and push hard, like they want out. I’d pierce my belly button in a sec just to shake the total dork image, but what happens if those memories ooze out?

  Stop it. Don’t think so much. That always gets you in trouble.

  I bury my head under my pillow. That used to work when I was a kid and alone, waiting for Mom to come home. Waiting. That was hard sometimes, and scary.

  Don’t be a wimp. Lock the door and don’t open it. I’ll be back by three. She always sounded impatient , like I was being stupid.

  The high and lonely howl comes again, only from another direction and closer. Another coyote. I picture two lonely creatures out there, circling, looking.

  Oh, no. I’m getting the shakes, and... I don’t believe it. Monster’s here. So he did come with me to Sweet River. The sirens in Vegas used to wake him up. Now it’s coyotes howling in the night. City. Country. He’s everywhere.

  It’s him, all right. Dark and shadowy.

  I open the nightstand drawer and for a moment hold the plastic bottle filled with Mom’s sleeping pills. Then I pull out the slim toilet paper bundle, unroll the razor blade, and hold it out to him in my palm.

  “See?” I whisper to him. “It’s right here.”

  He creeps out and sits hunched at the foot of the bed.

  I take the blade between my thumb and first finger—no easy trick when the shakes come over me.

  I already know how it’s going to feel. How it’s going to open old scars from other times—those crooked lines that turn to scabs and pucker the skin under my ankle bone. But I know once the blade slides inside me, I don’t hurt, I don’t think, I don’t shake anymore. For one delicious moment, I’m not afraid of Monster or anybody else.

  I have a half inch red streak and a tiny trickle of blood that I blot with the toilet paper. Monster’s slipping away, over the edge of the bed. He’ll be gone in another second. My hands are steady now, so it’s easy to wrap the blade and tuck it into the drawer. By the time I turn back he’s gone, and the coyotes now are silent. Without the frap, frap of the fan, there isn’t any sound.

  Now I can finally sleep. The memories will be good. They will be about sweet ice cream on a spoon, and me laughing.

  The knock at the door sends my heart to my toes. I’m beginning to think about the downside of doors.

  “Shawna, are you awake?”

  It’s Kay.

  Chapter 14

  Kay

  Kay worked in her office almost every night after dinner. And now that the house was filled with Shawna, her smells, her sounds, but mostly her anger, Kay clung to the certainty of numbers to help focus on something other than Shawna’s explosive, unpredictable nature.

  Tonight the numbers weren’t as certain as she’d like. This darned checkbook won’t balance, she thought. She was adding the figures a second time when Shawna shuffled down the hall past the office. “Goodnight,” Kay called.

  “Right.” Shawna didn’t stop on the way to her room.

  Kay waited for the slam of the door.

  Bam!

  She stood partway up; then shook her head. No. She wouldn’t rise to the bait. What could she do anyway, spank the girl? For a moment she closed her eyes, before returning to the numbers that wouldn’t add up.

  She finally pushed her chair away from her desk and, rubbing her eyes, laid her glasses on the pile of invoices. She’d finish them tomorrow, after she dropped Shawna at school.
r />   Why was she nervous about Shawna’s first day at Sweet River High? Shawna certainly didn’t seem to be. Kay stretched her back. Maybe that’s what worried her. The girl didn’t care about anything. Would Shawna continue her shrugging indifference at school? What would the school do in return?

  I can’t worry about what might happen, she thought. And I can’t change what’s already come around the corner of the barn. She turned off the lights and walked into the hall.

  She made her way to Shawna’s door. She’d just check to see if she was feeling better. Maybe she should tell her to go back to town and get the Diesels. Those tight-fitting jeans seemed to be the crux of Shawna’s pout for the last two weeks. No. Her granddaughter would not look like a hooker. Kay raised her hand to knock, but stopped when she heard Shawna’s voice.

  “See? It’s right here.”

  Kay waited, her ear turned to the door. Who could she be talking to? She didn’t have a cell phone. There was no phone in her bedroom. She listened again, but Shawna didn’t say anything else. Kay knocked. “You awake?”

  Small sounds like whispers came from inside, but Shawna didn’t answer her.

  “Shawna. Are you all right?”

  “Yeah.” Shawna said.

  A drawer slid open or closed, and the bed shifted, like Shawna was climbing in or out. But no footsteps came toward the door.

  “May I come in?” Kay asked.

  “It’s your house.”

  Kay saw the shrug even from behind the door. With a sigh, she turned the knob and pushed the door open. “I just wondered how you were feeling.” She glanced around the room. The window stood open, the fan was still. Shawna lay under the sheet and a small dark stain, still wet, spread across the white cotton. “Did you scratch yourself?” Kay asked.

  “Oh, yeah.” Shawna tucked her leg under the blanket. “Mosquito bite, but I’m okay. It’s stopped bleeding.”

  “I thought I heard you say something.”

  “Thinking out loud, I guess.” Shawna sat up. “Is there a rule against that?”

  “No.” Kay turned to leave. “Do you want one?”

  Shawna laughed. “Not!”

  Kay pulled the door shut behind her and leaned against it. She smiled. Had they just joked with each other?

  Chapter 15

  Kay

  The next day Kay drove Shawna to school, and they made their way to the office. The principal’s door stood open, so Kay knocked on the doorjamb to get his attention. “Robby?”